


Misplaced

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [47]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Cell Phones, Comedy, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, M/M, Multi, Phone Calls & Telephones, The Blame Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom’s girlfriend, Abigail’s reaction to seeing him as Caius Marcius Coriolanus at the Donmar Warehouse. (Part 2 to Violent)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misplaced

**Author's Note:**

> “Luke?” I blinked at my girlfriend, trying to find her train of thought. I consider myself an intelligent bloke, but sometimes Abby flabbergasted me, and had me second guessing that belief. Her thought process worked in a different way than my own.

She nodded confidently, playing with the collar of my jumper.

Trying to find the trail to her conclusion, I asked, “Luke who?”

“Luke Windsor, arse.” Abby looked at me as though I’d lost my head.

“My publicist Luke?” I tried again.

Rolling her eyes at me, she said obviously, “So you do know him?”

I tested carefully, “Because he was writing plays in his free time 400 years ago?”

She huffed audibly and leveled her eyes on mine again, her fingers absently playing with the zip of my jumper. “Don’t be a twat, Tommy.”

I knew I was testing her boundaries of patience when she called me that. Suppressing a laugh, I said, “Okay, bring me up to speed, baby.”

My half-pissed girl reached down with both hands and shoved them in the pockets of my trousers. Assuming that she was beginning our Sunday early, I didn’t try to stop her. Sadly she produced my iPhone instead of seducing me by touching me intimately. As she was playing with the display, unable to unlock it in her compromised state, I waved down the waitress for another pitcher of sangria.

I watched Abby get increasingly annoyed with my phone, frustrated that it didn’t do her bidding as she hoped it would. She held the device above her head swiveling back and forth, lifting and lowering the thing, studying the face of it. Finally she shook it up and down, before turning to me, and ordered, “Make it work.”

I held her hands when she was about to hit it on the back like the dying batteries in a remote control. “What are you trying to accomplish, Abby?”

On the best of days, Abby had trouble remembering my code for unlocking my phone; she’d never made the correlation between the arrangement of the numbers and the date that we first appeared on stage together. She shoved the phone into my hand and insisted, “Make it work.”

“You’ll get a quicker response if you used-“

Flashing her teeth under a wide smile, she said, “Now!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going for,” I mumbled sarcastically, biting her lower lip.

I handed the unlocked phone back to her, wrapping my arms about her waist and adjusting her weight on my lap. Peeking over her shoulder, I watched her navigate to the contacts list. “Who are you calling?”

She shushed me.

The waitress brought more alcohol, and poured the glass for me. With a grateful gesture, I waved her off from pouring another for the woman sitting on my legs, who was swiping through all the names to locate the person she wanted to call, missing my cutting her off. Quietly, I reminded her, “Abby, it’s after half past eleven.”

She ignored me. She pressed the entry for the man in question, and the call activated. I tried to take the phone back from her to end the call, but she held it above her head. “No, Hiddleston, it’s my turn.”

“Abby, activate the speaker phone then,” I ordered softly.

She lowered the phone back to her ear, the side away from me. “I don’t wanna,” she objected plainly, keeping the phone pressed to her ear.

“Abby, put it on speaker.”

She gave me a sideways disapproving, all together withering look and shushed me again. “It’s ringing. Now hush up, I’m busy.”

I sternly warned, “Abigail.”

Despite her fighting, she clicked the button for speaker and placed her finger over my lips. “Don’t you take that tone with me, Hiddleston, or no sexual favors.”

A whoop of laughter sounded from the phone in her hand. Kindly Luke replied, “Abby, doll…”

She stared down at the mobile for a few moments, almost confused that it connected. Bless her, and her delayed reactions under the influence. Brightly she greeted, “Luke!”

“Are you sure that you don’t want to offer me sexual favors?”

“I don’t think Tom would allow that.”

“You haven’t dumped that ponce yet?”

Quickly, I swallowed the sip of my drink and commented into the device, “Thanks, mate!”

The male on the other end cackled. “Figured you were there. She dialed from your line. I’m billing you for this hour, by the way. It’s Satur-”

Interrupting, my girl cut him off, “Do you know where he was tonight?”

“Do you mean Tom, doll?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course!”

“Two performances of Coriolanus today at the Donmar.”

“Right, and who put him up to that?” she demanded, regaining some of her irritation from earlier.

The airwaves buzzed as the man on the other end, tried to work out what she was getting at. “Abby, doll, have you been drinking?”

She blew a raspberry as an answer, and I nearly spit out another mouthful of alcohol with the unexpected laughter. Feisty little Abby had claws tonight, and the alcohol was only making her even more sassy than when she was sober.

Luke pounced on that, “I’m taking that as a resounding yes. Alright, Abby, my doll, Tom was performing today, why are you calling me?”

“You made me cry.”

“I made you cry?”

“You made me cry.”

“How did I make you cry?”

“You made Tom do this play. The play was sad, you made Tom cry, and you made me cry.”

My publicist went unnaturally quiet for a few moments, apparently mulling over Abby’s misplaced logic. Luke didn’t cast me, but since she didn’t really know the ins and outs of negotiating that contract, she went to the only person she knew for sure. “Alright, Abby, I’ll take it. I’m sorry that I made Tom cry. I’m sorry that I made you cry.” Luke knew that sometimes it was better just to agree with her than to argue the point. This was his quickest escape route.

“You should be!” she huffed indignantly.

The cell powered voice of Luke suggested, “Doll, do me a favor, will ya? Give your man a great big hug for me, won’t you?”

I ran my hand over her hair in my way, bringing her face around to look at me. I kissed her softly, bringing her focus back on me. She handed me my iPhone to me, coiled her arms around my neck and snuggled into me with her head on my shoulder. This wasn’t Luke’s suave request that Abby was acting on, but rather her need to be close to me after the torment the play put on her.

Deactivating the speaker, I put the phone to my ear in time to hear my friend asking for Abby, not realizing what had happened. “Thanks, mate. I got it from here.” I stroked my hand down her back, pressing some comfort into her as best I could. It’s what she needed.

“You’re welcome. Take care of her, yeah?”

“I will. Tragedy and sangria didn’t mix well for my girl.”


End file.
